


Stepping on the Cracks

by lc2l



Series: Liberté, Égalité, Lycanthropé [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bonding, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Pizza, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 02:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15940268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lc2l/pseuds/lc2l
Summary: They've been on bed rest and recovery since the day of the shooting.





	Stepping on the Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote the start of this very soon after finishing H&H (which was OVER A YEAR AGO WHAT EVEN IS TIME) and then procrastinated forever on finishing it, and then procrastinated on sharing it so my apologies for it being quite late.
> 
> This takes place month after H&H and I guess can be read on its own, but it might seem weird without context. Any lack of realism in healing times we're going to put down to magical werewolf powers because I do what I want. :)
> 
> Thanks to [Katiekate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/croissantkatie) for reading, [ McKenzi](http://essentiallychaotic.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing.
> 
> Warning for discussion of recent injuries, scarring and body image issues.

Enjolras gets a ride home from his last exam with Combeferre. Combeferre is an analyser, going over every single question - always remembered with an unnerving accuracy. Enjolras gives his answers best as he can recall. Mostly the exam felt very rudimentary after having weeks of not being able to walk, resting his leg on the kitchen table beside Grantaire, while he played video games or worked on one of the many commissions Mum was sending his way.

On Monday, Enjolras and Combeferre have an introduction to Dad's new office in the city. He's not going to be there full time. He can't move to Paris, he says, at his age, but he's promised them at least three days a week. With Courfeyrac moving in with Jehan, Combeferre has a spare room. Enjolras offered to house him, but dad looked from him to Grantaire and laughed. Apparently there are some things you don't want to be only a wall away from your son for.

Which would be a valid point if they were actually doing anything. They're more chaste than they were before. Enjolras tried to go on his knees and wound up pulling a stitch and spending the evening being driven back to the ER. After that, Grantaire refused to even try, joking about pyjamas buttoned up to the neck. Possibly he wasn't joking. Enjolras hasn't actually seen him with his shirt off since -

It's not like he'd expect it to be the same. It's not like it would change anything. They've both got their stitches out now, Eponine went with Grantaire to the hospital yesterday to get the last ones removed from his chest. Enjolras has scars down his leg. Wolves don't normally scar, it's one of the constants. Nothing but claiming bites, normally. But something about Enjolras experiencing the wounds in wolf form, then having them all return in human form has given the scars an unusual longevity that could turn out to be permanent.

He's been wearing pyjama bottoms and a shirt to bed. The scar tissue is as thick as a ballpoint pen, ridged up across his thigh, twisting the muscle out of shape. Over a month and many shifts later, he's still limping. His physio keeps saying it won't be permanent, but they also say they have no idea how his condition happened or if it's normal, so they can't be sure of anything ever.

Combeferre pulls up outside the apartment, and Enjolras realises belatedly he must have zoned out the whole drive. "Sorry, I didn't catch -" he stops in the face of Combeferre's amused eyebrow. "Did you want to come up?"

Combeferre shakes his head, reaching out to clasp his shoulder briefly. "It's fine, go see your mate. I'll pick you up on Monday."

He grabs his bag off the back seat, swings out of the car. They took the crutch away from him two weeks ago because apparently he was getting too reliant on it, and everything is so much slower now it's gone, no matter how much Aiden insists 'if you don't use it, it won't heal up properly.'

The doorman jumps to attention and nods politely at him when he stumbles past. Something about his face being splashed across every news outlet for a good few weeks, after the shooting and then the two week manhunt for Henri Valance that ended in a police raid on their country house in the Dordogne. Enjolras waves a greeting and limps into the lift, pressing his forehead against the cool metal walls a moment before the doors close.

He can smell dinner as soon as the doors reopen, the rich smell of fresh bread baking, tomatoes and garlic. If he'd thought Grantaire's food was good before when he was working in the two hours between waking up hungover and Enjolras leaving the house, it's nothing to what he's doing now he's home all day every day. He says cycling is too difficult, and Enjolras has offered to drive him to Thenardiers but most nights these days he doesn't go. Fridays, some Tuesdays. No day when the Thenardier elders are present. The rest of the time he works on commissions, wolf portraits for some of mum’s friends. Sometimes he'll play guitar, Montparnasse came by shortly after they arrived home and dropped his off for Grantaire to borrow. 

They sat on the sofa talking about music and Enjolras managed to watch Grantaire smiling at another wolf for a solid hour before Montparnasse had to leave and Enjolras pinned Grantaire against the closed door to kiss him and run fingers up and down his ribs, across the bandages and bare skin.

Enjolras opens the door. Grantaire is in the kitchen, shimmying to some pop song on the radio. It's in English, but Enjolras recognises a few of the lyrics as something Grantaire will sing while strumming in the evenings.

"Hey."

Grantaire turns mid shimmy and the smile Enjolras used to spend hours chasing spreads quick and easy across his face. "You're finished? I thought you'd go out drinking, paint the town red."

Enjolras drops his bag, forgetting his leg for the time it takes to cross into the kitchen. "Have you met me?"

Grantaire holds out a hand and Enjolras takes it, letting himself be spun into Grantaire’s arms in time to the music. "You're doing uni wrong," Grantaire says, pressing a kiss to his neck. "That's all I'm saying."

Enjolras breaks out of the dance to kiss him properly, hands sliding into curls and Grantaire's fingers coming to rest on his hips, still finding the spot between bruising and scarring even now the pain from both is almost gone. "I had something to get home for."

Grantaire smiles against his mouth and Enjolras can taste herbs and tomato when he leans in again. "What's cooking?"

He laughs. "So I might have, purely in the name of research, gone to that godawful pizza joint and bought a slice. If I die, you know what to blame, but I think I have figured out your magic sauce."

Enjolras ducks past him to peer down into the oven, where sure enough two pizzas are sitting on baking trays, cheese melting out across stacks of bacon, tomatoes and onions. "Are we celebrating my exams being over?"

Grantaire leans his chin on Enjolras's shoulder, incidentally pressing the full length of his body to Enjolras's back in the process. "We're celebrating something," he agrees, hand reaching around to rub the length of Enjolras's uninjured thigh. "So the nurse cleared me for mild physical activity."

Enjolras's heart leaps to his throat, beating in time with the pop hit blasting through the speakers. "Because you said you wanted to go hiking."

"Potato, potahto," Grantaire's curls tickle his ear. "What I'm thinking of is definitely physical, and we can make it mild." His hands curve up, fingers incidentally sliding under the bottom edge of Enjolras's tshirt. They stop there though, not high enough to brush his bruising even, holding perfectly steady. "Only if you want to."

Enjolras turns around in the confined space between the oven, Grantaire's palms and Grantaire's body. This seemed like a good plan, facing your partner and all that, but there's a lot less space to hide this way. Grantaire's hands are light on his hips and Enjolras almost wishes he would grab and stop asking, stop giving them both time to think.

Grantaire's touch becomes even lighter then gone as he steps back. "It's fine, we don't have to -"

"No," Enjolras pulls him back, hands on Grantaire's forearms, the dark hairs growing there, definitely focusing on his arms where nothing is bruised and broken. "I want to."

"You want to eat first?"

"No," Enjolras removes one hand to reach behind and switch off the oven. He can't let go, it feels like it's taken all his courage to bridge the gap once and he can't lose that progress. "I want you."

"Okay." Grantaire reaches up with his freed arm to push his hair back off his face, the light catching on his freshly shaved chin. "Bedroom?"

He leads Enjolras by the forearm grip Enjolras can't relinquish. The bedroom should be a familiar place, it's where they've lived the last four weeks. The light flicks on over boxes of Enjolras's notes, shoved unceremoniously onto the floor last night so they could roll over and go to sleep. Grantaire's sketch pad is leaning against the wall, a handful of pencils on his bedside table. Enjolras made the bed before going through to breakfast in the morning, but since then Grantaire's side has been pulled up and the blankets are crinkled from him reaching across for the chargers on Enjolras's side of the bed.

The curtains are closed, Grantaire's phone is plugged into Enjolras's charger and he's cataloguing all these familiar unchanged things so he can avoid the reality of what they're going to do.

There's a box of condoms and an open tube of lube on the bedside table. It wasn't there this morning and Enjolras's eyes catch in it and can't quite pull away.

Grantaire follows the look. "I didn't want to presume," he says quickly. "But, you know what they say. Be prepared and all that. I'm not - I know we talked about it, but it doesn't have to be now."

They talked about it, God. Enjolras has been jerking off in the shower for weeks about the conversations Grantaire deems as appropriate to casually discuss over dinner. Thinking about Grantaire opening himself up, about Grantaire's callouses opening Enjolras up which isn't something Enjolras ever thought he wanted but he does. With this one, he wants everything in all directions at once.

But there's a gap between here standing in the doorway fully dressed and there, and Enjolras's whole body feels like it's freezing up at the thought of the steps in between. He knows, objectively he knows Grantaire is friends with Floreal who has scars all over her arms, Grantaire knows people with scars all over their body and he's seen Enjolras's leg through all stages of healing, he's not going to expect perfection. Just because werewolves normally don't scar and Grantaire could have certain expectations from the fact that he's dating a werewolf.

And Grantaire's going to take his shirt off, so Enjolras will have to face exactly what his schemes and machinations have done, exactly how close they were on that street to Grantaire not coming home.

"We can do this slowly," Grantaire says. "Or all at once."

He's reaching for the hem of his shirt. Enjolras shakes his head. "Kiss me."

He will never get tired of that smile on Grantaire's face, never tire of the taste of it as Grantaire steps back in close, curves his free arm around Enjolras's waist. Grantaire is shorter, but Enjolras's head tilts down towards him so automatically, like a flower turning to the sun, that it never seems to matter.

It's hesitant, the way it always is the first time. One day perhaps they will each be sure enough of their welcome to leap right into mouths clashing, tongues delving like Jehan and Courfeyrac but for now it starts with soft gentle kisses, small and questioning. Like this? This? 

Enjolras lets his lips part in response. Yes. That. Lifts a single hand to run through the hair past Grantaire's ear, feeling the strands part, the occasional catch against a tangle until his hand is nestled at the back of Grantaire's neck, holding him close and taking him deeper, tasting the warmth of his mouth, the coffee he must have been drinking before Enjolras came in.

Grantaire's hands are on the small of his back, warm against bare skin, a touch so light it's barely there but still hitting every single one of Enjolras's nerve endings like an electric shock. They're still in the doorway, he realises when he pushes forward and Grantaire's back hits the frame. Enjolras pulls back for a moment - if he knocked an exit wound, if he's bruised, if -

Grantaire smiles lazily through reddened lips, tugging gently on Enjolras's spine to pull him back into the kiss, then closer, so he can feel the rough planes of Grantaire's chest, the softness around his stomach where it's easy for Enjolras to rest his palms. They've done this much before, not recently but back when kissing was a functional thing and Enjolras had to bite down on his tongue so he wouldn't say anything he wasn't supposed to feel.

Grantaire leans in closer, kissing the edge of Enjolras's mouth, up his cheek to his ear, taking a moment to learn the curve of it with his tongue and mutters, "I love you."

Which is new. This whole thing is new and different because kissing is all encompassing now. Grantaire's hands aren't going through the motions on their way to a handjob, they're claiming, owning. Enjolras doesn't have to stop himself resting his palm on Grantaire's hip, feeling the ridges of his own jaw line etched into the skin like a jigsaw piece falling into place, like coming home.

He scrapes it with the tip of one fingernail and Grantaire shudders. Only slightly, but all over, pressed up against and there's the first touch of his crotch against Enjolras's knee, his cock stirring underneath the layers of fabric and denim. "Fuck," he breathes, drawing it out so it feels like it could last forever, a single word creeping down Enjolras's spine to lodge under his skin.

All of a sudden they're wearing too many layers. It's not even winter and Enjolras is wearing a jumper. Sure, Grantaire's hands are underneath it but that's one small point of skin contact in a world where they could be naked. "Okay," Enjolras presses a kiss into Grantaire's neck, his jaw, drops his hand from Grantaire's hair to match his other on the scar, so they're holding each other's waists like a dance.

Grantaire lifts his arms up and Enjolras closes his eyes and pulls up, over. The shirt he drops somewhere on the floor, his hands go back to their safe spots, finding the bite mark without having to peek. He leans up into a kiss, not for an excuse to keep them closed, because kissing Grantaire is one of his favourite things and that's what matters.

"It's okay," Grantaire murmurs, breaking the kiss to stroke his hair, fingers teasing through the strands. "I'm okay."

Enjolras lifts his palm to Grantaire's chest, mapping by touch to start with. The wound in his shoulder is easy enough to find, he starts at the top and works his fingers slowly down until the smooth feeling of flesh breaks into something harder, something more twisted.

He opens his eyes. The scar is smaller than his imaginings. In his head, he still pictures gunshots like in the movies, holes through glass that shatter out from the point in spiderweb cracks. In real life, the mark is almost hidden by his fingertips. It's not even round, a line of scar tissue slightly wider than Enjolras's leg, but shorter than his thumb, tiny pinprick scars on either side from the staples already fading into the skin. It doesn't seem big enough to be fatal, but of course the damage didn't have to be wide when it was deep enough for there to be a matching scar on the far side.

"See," Grantaire says, reaching out to catch Enjolras's hair and hook it back behind his ear, it catches for a moment before falling down again and Grantaire laughs. He can still laugh, as he picks up Enjolras's fingers and moves them across to the second scar. This one sits between his ribs, where his heart would be in a mirror image. "Nothing to it."

This one is larger. Even a werewolf would have had trouble healing a collapsed lung, Grantaire's aborted shift meant the surgeons had to cut back in. The scar is longer, shaped like a slitted eye, thin at the ends and expanding in the middle. There's still scabs at the centre, caught in folds of scar tissue.

The third one is the largest, matching the bite mark on his hip, a long surgical scar that twists across almost to his stomach. It's holding together without the stitches but it still looks angry and red. This one has no exit wound, the bullet lodging against Grantaire's pelvis. It took them over an hour to find all the shards of it, twisting them out one by one. Grantaire asked to keep the pieces, and when he was told they'd been disposed of as medical waste he actually looked disappointed. 

Grantaire kisses his neck, already bored by Enjolras's slow examination. To him the scars are old news, his hands impatient against Enjolras's back. "Is it my turn yet?"

Enjolras swallows then pushes his hands away and tugs his hoodie and shirt up and over his head in one motion, catching his shirt inside the jumper so he doesn't have to take the time between the two to think.

Grantaire's eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted. He could be horrified. Enjolras tried to catalogue his scratches and scrapes but he can't remember them all. There's a deep one in his shoulder that might scar, a line scored across his belly the doctors said probably won't, his left side is still faintly yellow. The last full moon he shifted forms as reluctantly as possible, then limped as far as the sofa where Grantaire smiled faintly and patted the cushion. Enjolras leant his muzzle on Grantaire's leg, close to the smell of fresh blood as Grantaire's wounds tried to undo a shifts worth of healing and found three week's of natural human healing getting in the way.

Grantaire's palms come up to rest on his chest, fingertips just resting on his shoulders, the heels of his palms so close to Enjolras's nipples and he lets out a long, low breath. "I cannot _believe_ you don't work out."

"I-" Enjolras starts, but it turns into a sharp intake of breath when Grantaire presses the first exploratory kiss against the line of his shoulder, following it down to his collarbone, gently sucking and pulling at the skin and everything Enjolras might have said - I don't know, are you sure, can we do this - is gone. All his thoughts are focused on Grantaire's mouth, the feeling of it on his skin, his hands reaching for his hair, running his fingers up the line of Grantaire's back - there's an exit wound scar, there's another - and then Grantaire is pushing back and it's Enjolras's turn to knock into the doorframe, gently, on his right side.

"God," Grantaire breathes, his thumb brushes Enjolras's nipple and Enjolras's whole body reacts, like a switch. His knees twitch like they might give way, he can't catch his breath, his cock stiffens noticeably against Grantaire's thigh. And he knew, he kind of knew, he's had partners before who noticed.

But no one else who lifted their head up, giving him a look of awe and wonder before bending down and brushing the same point with a kiss, teasing in teeth, bringing a hand to his hip to hold him in the doorway every time he shuddered against their thigh, a string of meaningless gibberish escaping from his lips. "Grantaire, R, God, _God_ , please."

Grantaire's mouth moves down, his fingers lingering for a moment as he presses kisses down the centre of Enjolras's chest and Enjolras is too distracted to worry about anything beyond _yes_ and _more_ when Grantaire goes for his belt. "Can I?" A quick check in and Enjolras nods, he's hard enough it's painful in tight jeans and Grantaire's almost on his knees, looking up green eyes under dark eyelashes with Enjolras's hand in his hair and even that isn't enough for Enjolras to realise what's happening before his briefs are being pulled down with his jeans and Grantaire's mouth -

God. Grantaire's mouth.

His mouth and his hands, fingers pinning Enjolras to the wall so he can go at his own pace, palm resting over the four deep scars across his leg seemingly without even noticing. "I'm gonna-" Enjolras gets out giving Grantaire just enough time to rock back before he's coming, helpless in the doorway, the feeling washing over him like a wave.

Grantaire sits back on the floor to look up at him, his hands have dropped a little to rest on Enjolras's calves and it's too much, standing there with Grantaire's face turned up to him, Enjolras's legs can't take it and he folds down onto the floor beside him. The carpet is green, it came with the flat and Enjolras finds himself picking at it. It needs cleaning.

"Hey," Grantaire says, wrapping arms around him and pulling him close so they're almost spooning, except in a sitting position. On the floor.

Enjolras moves his hand back a little and finds Grantaire's cock, still hidden under his jeans and hard. He's touched it before, knows the feel of it in his palm and the sight of it in the dim light of a quick pull under the sheets. They've been so careful with limits it's hard to believe he can taste it now, he can learn it all over again.

Grantaire kisses his shoulder, his hair tickling the nape of Enjolras's neck. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

Enjolras tilts his head for better access. "Since I saved you from a pack of killer werewolves?"

Grantaire laughs, warm against his skin. "I think it was a speech about the falling numbers of humans in high ranked universities, some guy had come off the street and said something about how it made sense because everyone knew humans just weren't as smart as werewolves. Your whole face just fell open like it was so impossible for someone to even think that and I thought, hey, I wonder if that's how he looks after a really good blowjob."

Enjolras laughs helplessly, naked on the floor and his partner can honestly not do him the courtesy of being serious for five minutes while he psyches himself up to ask. "Was it everything you hoped for?"

"I didn't have a great view from down here, we're going to have to try again-" he kisses across the back of Enjolras's neck, soft between each word. "And again... And again."

Enjolras pushes him back, twisting around so Grantaire's lying back on the floor and Enjolras is - he can't quite bring himself to sit down so not straddling but... close. Nearly.

Grantaire smiles lazily up at him, hair mussed out over the carpet and a curl falling across his eyes. "Not that I don't love your carpet. But you do have a bed." His palm run slowly up the back of Enjolras's bare thighs. "And I left supplies up there."

The thought is enough to get Enjolras going again, warmth flooding through him. "What do you want?"

Grantaire's hands move slightly higher, fingers just tugging at his ass. "This is working for me. If we move it a couple of metres to the left."

Enjolras glances left on instinct, sure enough the bed is sitting just over. He steals another kiss on the floor, Grantaire's head lifting up off the carpet to chase his tongue and Enjolras forgetting for a moment there's another plan when sits back and feels Grantaire hard against his ass.

"No, come on," Grantaire kisses his cheek, his jaw, then pushes him back and half lifts him, trying to stand up without detangling.

Eventually Enjolras gives in and stands up as well, unwilling to lose contact he finds himself hanging onto Grantaire's hand and being led to his own bed, where they've both been sleeping for weeks now, and yet it's all new and exciting.

He turns with his back to the bed, links his fingers behind Grantaire's neck to kiss him again, he steps forward into the gap between Enjolras's thighs, denim brushing against bare skin. "How come you're still dressed?" Enjolras asks, kissing the fresh shaven line of Grantaire's jaw, chasing the slight hints of stubble where he's missed them.

"Because someone was impatient," Grantaire kisses him back, quick, fleeting, then drops his hands to his own belt. This is new, this is better, with Grantaire there and the lights are still on so Enjolras can properly take him in, can slide his feet up Grantaire's calves, toes brushing against the dark hair there and when Grantaire moves forward to push Enjolras flat on the bed, looming over him to kiss him over and over there's nothing left in the way.

Enjolras wants to feel him, taste him, he wants everything in ways he never thought he would. "You're beautiful," he whispers, fingers tracing across the skin, right at the edge of where Grantaire's belt would have been, brushing over the third scar he finds there, running in a line down from his hip all the way to -

"Hi there," Grantaire says in his ear, it coming out in a smile and a rush of warmth against his skin.

It's familiar in the feel, in the touch of it. Enjolras knows how to touch to bring Grantaire to the brink, how to bring him off quickly and efficiently or how to drag it out, make it last. "I want to feel you," he says, trying to find words for the desperation, the want curling up inside him.

Grantaire smiles. “I think we can manage that,” he says. “Like before?” And then he’s pushing Enjolras back, so he’s lying flat on the bed and Grantaire’s come with him, one knee on either side of Enjolras’s thighs.

Grantaire is on top of him. It's a thought that by itself would be overwhelming, and context in this instance is actually only making things worse. Grantaire is on top of him and smiling like he almost gets it, running a hand across Enjolras's side light enough his ribs barely twinge, like he's soothing a spooked animal.

Like a wolf. Or something. Enjolras's was never great at metaphors. "I'm not going to bite," he says, realising as he does so maybe it's the kind of thing that doesn't make sense without the context inside of his own head.

"No?" Grantaire says, fingers circling the sensitive skin around Enjolras’s nipple. "That's a pity."

The scar tissue of the lowest bullet hole carries on down below where his jeans would be. There's a mark across the middle of it where his briefs were a little too tight.

Enjolras lifts a hand to it, matching on the other side with a palm against the bite mark, pushing down on it just a little to feel the echo of the connection in his mind-

And Grantaire shudders. Full body, his cock pressing momentarily against Enjolras's as his body shakes. "God," the word seems to tear out of him, he's hard and trembling, lifts a hand to grab at Enjolras's before he can press down again. "It never did that before."

There's probably something scientific to it, something about equalised bonds and arousal transference but Enjolras doesn't have to worry about any of it, not when he can scrape a nail across the scar tissue and hear Grantaire moan. He presses the full length of his body down and reclaims Enjolras's mouth, desperate. Enjolras's hands slip around his back, holding his neck, running down to the bare skin of his ass where Enjolras finally doesn't have to hesitate or hold back.

His fingers find slick oiled skin and he hesitates. Grantaire feels it, moves back a little, catching the tip of Enjolras’s finger. "I thought -" Enjolras starts. He doesn't know what he thought, it's not like they discussed it.

Grantaire kisses his jaw. "I wanted to celebrate. We have all the time in the world to take our time." His hand curves around Enjolras's cock, which doesn't exactly take much encouragement. "I was thinking about how I really wanted to ride you and how I didn't think I could wait."

That makes two of them, now, now the idea is in Enjolras's head and Grantaire is leaning over him, Grantaire's been thinking about this. Imagining Grantaire in the bathroom slowly working himself open while Enjolras was sitting in an exam hall writing bullshit about who-cares-what has Enjolras curling a hand in Grantaire's hair and pulling him in.

Another quick pull with his hand, and then Grantaire is lining himself up, one hand on Enjolras's chest, fingers splayed across three different sets of scars, and sinking down.

Enjolras's mind short circuits. He's aware of Grantaire moving until he finds a position that makes sparks go off behind their eyeballs with every thrust. He's aware, vaguely, of his own voice, hoarse and growling, crying Grantaire's name with every thrust. His hand finding Grantaire's fingers and Grantaire's cock underneath them, pulling it in time.

He's aware of his whole body feeling like electricity and the moment he comes his whole mind is fireworks, Grantaire echoing through him barely a moment behind.

*

Enjolras kisses Grantaire's shoulder as he pulls out, barely getting an instant to catch his breath before Grantaire is pulling him in and kissing him again. Enjolras could honestly stay for hours, but Grantaire’s preparation didn’t stretch as far as a washcloth. “Thirty seconds,” he promises.

It’s a little bit longer than that. Enjolras is half considering summoning the monumental effort required to stand up, when Grantaire returns with a washcloth and a plate of slightly crispy pizza, which he dumps on the bed like crumbs are a problem for other people.

Enjolras takes a bite while Grantaire wipes them both down, pressing kisses after to the damp skin as though he can't bear to wash his marks off Enjolras’s skin entirely. Enjolras fully approves. 

“How is it?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras drops the crust onto the plate, pushing it away so he can move into Grantaire’s lap properly. “Worth the wait.” Grantaire tosses the cloth away somewhere and Enjolras touches a kiss to the scar on his shoulder, feeling the roughness of the skin, the promise to take more care of him in future.

Grantaire's fingers card through his hair, letting him investigate. “I want to do that for you,” Enjolras says. “I want you, inside me.”

Grantaire smiles, presses a kiss to his jaw. “Anything you want,” he promises. “Just give me five minutes –“ a half smile. “A protein bar.”

Enjolras falls into a helpless smile back, remembering the morning after the full moon when he’d been nothing but energy and desperation and there were so many things he’d wanted to do, so many things they’ll be able to do. “There’s no rush.”

“Sure,” Grantaire curls in close, all bare skin and curls tickling Enjolras’s chin. "We have all summer before you start back at work with your father."

Enjolras lets his fingers drag across Grantaire's chest, catching lightly at his nipples and in the hair around the scars that's already starting to grow back. "And the rest of our lives after that."


End file.
